


Seeing is Believing.

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-04
Updated: 2006-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:10:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bono and the Edge wind up in the papers once again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing is Believing.

**Author's Note:**

> Pop era, mildly AU simply in that this obviously never happened. Many, many thanks to the Joy for betaing and improving this greatly. Safety in numbers, eh? The tagged quote is, as far as I'm aware, Mark Twain and thus should now be public domain. Um. I hope, anyway. Anyway, if it's not, Pterry was infringing before I was!
> 
>  **For the[red challenge](http://community.livejournal.com/u2slash/413955.html).**

"A lie will get halfway around the world before the truth has got its pants on."

* * *

Predictably, the headlines hit all over, with all the subtlety (and grasp of solid fact) of a two tonne bomb. They came in over the wires faster than management could issue denials, or explanations, all kinds of stories out there and circulating. They spread misinformation like a disease, streaking falsehoods into the afternoon editions, broadening by evening to make sidebars and page sevens most of the way around the world, all before they'd even had opportunity to call a press conference, get their own side out there.

" _U2 implicated in vicious attack!_ "

" _1 dead, U2 numbed by tragedy._ "

" _Irish Rockers witness Chicago mob violence._ "

" _Bono bound by law!_ "

" _Red faces as cops pick up rock stars!_ "

  
The room is humming with speculation as Paul McGuinness walks in, followed by a serious- faced Bono, hair uncharacteristically short ("Jail buzzcut?" crows one of the tabloid hacks gleefully, half a page of 'notes' in his pad before an official word has even been said.)

Paul reads from a prepared statement, terse and brief, just stating the facts, an assertion echoed by the uniformed officer sat discreetly by the end of the table who stands up at the conclusion to identify himself as the lieutenant in charge, and to say simply that the two persons concerned were simply witnesses to a terrible crime, notable only due to their celebrity, and if you gentlemen of the press could kindly leave us to it we will have the perpetrator under arrest shortly.

With a brief gesture, Paul indicates that they'll allow the journalists a few questions from the floor, most of them fielded by Bono, who is clipped and unusually terse. The media representatives trickle out soon thereafter, followed by the three men at the table, who make their way back to the hotel rooms being kept by the Irishmen for the duration. The first cop leaves them just inside the door with a few words to the two men waiting inside - one a rangy detective, badge clipped to his breast pocket, the other easily recognisable as the band's guitarist, deep in conversation.

"Really, Detective, didn't we clear all this up sufficiently down at the station?" Paul is tired, sharp, fixing the detective with what is nearly a glare.

A glare that slides right off him without even an eye-flicker of acknowledgement. Maybe it's something they learn at the police academy, who knows? Or maybe, with a hardass like that lieutenant he's just used to a certain level of intimidation on a daily basis and Paul's just not up to scratch. No matter what the explanation, his attention is wholly on his witnesses now, Paul's presence set aside as unnecessary.

His focus, split between Edge and Bono is almost frightening, would be if it wasn't for the way his fingers tap on his thigh, a too-fast beat that smacks of displacement activity. With long experience, both of them have the guy pegged as an ex-smoker (hazard of the job, Edge suggests later, when they discuss it briefly), and one who's given up fairly recently at that. His skin is crinkled tight around the corners of his eyes, stress speaking eloquently in all the tiny cues of body language and posture. They're not going to be much help to him, he knows it, they know it, but procedure has to be followed.

"Just gotta confirm there's nothing more that you can tell us and then I'll be outta your hair for good." He turns his gaze back to Bono, who's dropped heavily onto the couch beside the Edge, unconsciously patting his thigh for reassurance before finally relaxing, biting at his lip as he responds, obviously not for the first time.

"We were at the mall... Edge was examining a book he was interested in, I was with him, I heard a commotion, looked over and saw a man running. He'd taken a woman's purse, I believe? And then a few moments later someone else screamed, and there was an older man on the ground with a knife in his ribs. It wasn't pleasant."

"You sure you didn't see the man arguing with his," he scrubs a hand through his hair before making some vague gesture of illustration, shoulders moving restlessly, "his girlfriend before that? Sitting in the food court? You didn't hear any yellin' or anything?"

Bono and Edge exchange a quick glance. Obviously, the man has some kind of agenda, though at least for once it doesn't seem to be focused on getting something from _them_. Or at least, not because of who they are. It makes a change.

"How 'bout you? You see anything?"

Edge sighs, obviously drawing his patience tighter around himself, breathing out slowly before answering.

"As Bono said, I was, I was reading a book, he poked me in the shoulder when there was some sort of commotion on the other side of the shopfront, I looked up, saw a uniformed officer pursuing another young man, he tackled him, I thought the excitement was over. At least, until yourself and the others approached the poor man who was stabbed over by the monument, and asked for the witnesses to stay and give statements. Really, I didn't see anything more than that."

"You saw the purse-snatcher?" There's an idle interest in the detective's tone, one that seems suspicously innocent.

"Well, not precisely, no. I saw the- the Constable, I think he said he was? Saw him running." Rueful pause. "Something red moving fast does tend to draw the eye."

The detective sighs rather more heavily than seems to be accounted for by any of their statements, and rises to his feet, shaking his arms out a little, flexing his wrists. He seems to have accepted - at last - that they really cannot help him any further, so with a brief thanks for their time, at least, he moves towards the door.

Bono, impetuous as always, has just squeezed reassuringly at Edge's knee when the Detective turns again, a much more natural grin on his face as he looks at the pair of them, tucked comfortably into the upholstery. "Uh, by the way? You," eyeballing Edge, "have got a nice set of red marks just under your ear, there. Next time you're fooling around in public you might want to work on a better cover story."

Shaking his head and muttering "looking at a book, _honestly_ , even Fraser could come up with a better one than that..." under his breath, Detective Vecchio heads to the elevator and back to the precinct to tackle the other witnesses to this crime.

The end.


End file.
